❤️💙

[dollhoonki]

✶ ── WISH YOU WERE MINE ⋆ ANTON LEE。

⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ festivals are your favourite way to let loose, forgetting the growing pains of adulthood, surrounded by good music and better friends. in true festival fashion, your friends adopt another friendship group of guys who make you laugh till your belly hurts and hoist you on their shoulders for your favourite dj sets. the weekend promises everything you could wish for, a chance at romance too. ── ❪playlist❫

festival goer!李灿荣 𝔁𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 15.8k    explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、fluff、heavy mentions of and scenes of recreational drug use、alcohol consumption、(slightly condescending) dom!anton、 sub!reader、vaginal fingering、oral (f.rec), unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、multiple smut scenes、squirting、 petnames used: angel、baby、dirty/needy/pretty girl. guest appearances by: bae & sullyoon (nmixx)、kazuha & yunjin (lesserafim)、heejin & choerry (loona)、ot7 riize. ⌇ℳ.list

⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ my sweet labour of love (╥﹏╥) to think, this has been in my drafts since early october of last year, stuck at 2k until last week....we've come so far t-t BIG BIG thank you to the fishbowl server for suffering through this wip and sprinting with me till i finished this. words can't quite express how thankful and lucky i am to have you guys in my life 🥹 while acl anton was the first inspiration of this fic, the rest comes from stories told and memories shared with friends i wouldn't trade for the world. despite how daunting the word count may be, i do hope you can enjoy this fic and find bits of your own story told in here too hehe. much loveeeeee! <333

Summer to you starts in August.

Sure, you'd run your last academic marathon at the end of June, with July spent shackle-free back home where you'd meet up with friends who aren't the same anymore after uni. You'd swelter in the sun, cause havoc in beer gardens and star gaze when the sun finally set after 10. It's the break you've been craving, the aches and pains of academia eased away by the leisure by the warm weather. But it wasn't summer.

Summer to you is the first week of August.

When your university friends and yourself would all pool into your deserted uni town, catching up and reminiscing the night before setting out on a seven hour long drive. First year is when all seven of you go, split between two cars, driving down south to the surfer's paradise of sandy beaches and a blue ocean stretching far beyond the eye. Broadmasters is the first festival you attend, your parents too rigid in fear to let you go beforehand because to them, the only purpose festivals served was for to do drugs.

You can't fault them really, because your first Boardmasters sees you drop your first pill, shapes and colours crossing your line of sight at a rave in the woods. It's an out-of-body experience, pupils blown wide and body brimming with unconditional love as your body moves slow and fluid, as if stuck in honey. Despite the lack of showers and kicked-up sand, it's one of your favourite weekends, long talked after you leave the festival on a cliff. Surrounded by your dearest girls, sticking together in the packed pit of festival goers, pumping your fists to dance and grime. Nothing quite bonds a group of people together like tripping balls, peeing in bushes when the portable toilets are too sickening to enter. 

When you're not nodding along to the music, you're swinging through the air of the select carnivals ride, trying not to throw up your breakfast of pains au chocolat and vodka orange juice. When you're not getting a tan on the white beach, you're jumbled together with avid surfers watching the festival's competition unfold, monstrous waves so close you're convinced they'll swallow you whole. And when you leave on Monday morning, sunburnt with sand in between your toes and a hoarse throat, you can't wait to do it again the next year.

So, you do. It becomes a tradition of sorts, the first time you see your university friends since leaving your belongings in your new residence of the upcoming year. The night before is just as good as the festival, all huddled in your new lounge showing off your new festival clothes, sharing jewellery and scourging around for a sleeping bag because Choerry always forgets hers. It's one of the few times your soul feels alive, every inch of it clinging onto the present moment to now, four years later from your first, standing amidst a sea of people, on the grassy grounds you've come to know and love. 

Early evening paints the sky in an indigo blue, bright full moon creeping into the sky. This year's different, a year removed from university, but you're trying to make it feel like every other time before. One of Friday night's headliners has got the crowd going, the easy-going atmosphere breathing space in between groups of people huddled around each other. It's the kind of let your hair down sensation your body's ached for, head tipped back as you try and sink into the feelings.

In a crowd full of moving bodies, the only sounds occupying the vast grasslands blare from the stage speakers, shaking with every heavy bass thump. It’s a good way to let go, losing yourself in the motions of the crowd high on house among other substances, inhibitions abandoned to the closed fall of your eyes, serenity your being. A necessary ritual, through the slump of everyday life boggled down by work responsibilities and other non-juggable things. A trip down South with friends sparkled in glitter, rustic clothes blowing in the wind as your arms circle each other, happiness so evident on your faces as your heads nod and worries dissipate.

It’s a time you wouldn’t trade for anything for, something precious in your life that comes with no regrets. 

In the swell of the crowd, warm stage lights project outwards, outlining the dancing silhouette of festival-goers. In the few occasions your eyes flutter open, you see your friends exchange words into the ears of guys next to your group, amusement curving your own lips. They’re good-looking, you note, grin widening as the taller one of the group hoists Choerry onto his shoulders, laughter pouring between your two groups.

If not for the tap on your shoulder, you would’ve missed him completely as his soft voice barely meets your ears. “Did you wanna have a go?”

You turn and the world sweeps into a montage, music slowed to reverb as you take his features in one by one. The kind brown circle of his eyes, the sheepish simper in his full lips, his wet fringe curling towards the open space of his forehead. He’s all lean muscles, shoulders like boulders in the grey cybersigilism vest he wears - sturdy enough to support you. However, it’s not his deep outline of his muscles or grunge fashion that grabs your attention, it’s the silver star grill stretched between his canine tooth and accompanying front tooth.

Out your peripheral, his head tilts, snapping you out your gaze. Like this, you can’t fight your fast blinks, not quite believing the sudden attraction rushing over you.

“Why not?” is your non-committal answer.

At your sides, his friends trade sneaky smirks and amused eyebrow raises, whispering in teasing tones. You thank the gods above for the invention of safety shorts, uneasy hands running over any possible creases in your outfit.

“You got a name?”

The divine mix of alcohol and ketamine always did something for your confidence, a good amount of inflation to your ego as your lips curve in a sneaky smirk.

Surprise reflects in the puzzlement of his face, a good-natured chuckle coming from him. “Excuse me?”

“I usually know someone’s name before I do anything like this.”

“In case of emergencies?” he asks, grin lopsided.

“More so common decency,” you chuckle, biting back your grin as he lowers himself to the ground, eyes shining up at you. “But that’s a factor too.”

Anton is the singular thing you remember through your exchange, goosebumps peppering your skin despite its feverish temperature the moment his hands meet it. You blame the race of your pulse on the unpredictability of the situation, surprised yelp blending into the heavy beats blaring off the tree-sized speakers as you’re hoisted upwards, a whole new world on your horizon. Everything looks indescribably small from your view, the sea of dancing bodies like a wave on the shore, your worries smaller too. Anton stands his ground, sturdy despite his two-step, hands hooked around your calves for good measure. Butterflies infiltrate the gooey puddle of your stomach, the flight of their wings giving an impression of euphoria, a lighter feeling within you as you allow yourself to sink into this — the flash of warm lights, Anton’s warm hands and the promise of a good weekend, a great weekend even if you let it.

The cusp of greatness starts when that first beat drops, so distinctly vivid and recognisable in your ears as the lights switch to shades of blue and white. Frantic eyes scan for your friends, the same look in all your eyes as your hands come together with Yunjin, lyrics belted out from the depths of your chest. If not for the vibration against you, you would’ve missed Anton singing along, his friends with shades on, draping over each other with pointed fingers in the air. Not a second later, one of Anton’s friends beckons the rest of your friends over, a shared circle of giddy smiles and clumsy steps. It’s sickening sweet, how a single song brings everyone together, setting fire to your soul yelling I wish you that you were mine at the top of your lungs.

Your balance against Anton never wavers, in the face of your necessary minimized dance moves and the pump of his fist, studded bracelet catching against the flickering light show. The melody boils to a simmer, unoccupied by words and only sounds, the perfect opportunity for your eyes to meet as Anton peers up at you, bliss across your faces in a way that makes you the kind of giddy you haven't felt in a while.

He keeps you on his shoulders for two more songs, the last of your friends let down to your feet as the rest of the DJ set goes on. Introductions are made amid the madness, too many names for your fuzzy brain to keep up with but their good company sticks. Jokes, dance battles and a united sing-a-along make you fast friends, enough that when the set ends, Anton's friends look to your group for what's next.

“The rave in the woods,” Anton’s snapback-wearing, doe eyed friend starts. Your memory traces back in time, Sohee remembered as his name. “Were you guys gonna go too?”

Your friend look amongst each other, giggling like you share a secret. "Of course." 

The rave in the woods is a beloved event that without a fail, your friends attend every night. Once the last big acts call it a day, smaller events scatter around for late-night partyers, the rave in the woods one of them. The woodland where you dance into the early hours of the morning is expansive, offering a variety of DJs supplying grime, house and techno to get the crowd moving. 

As first year attenders, Yunjin states how vital the experience is, leading with Sungchan who lends an enthusiastic ear while the rest of you trail behind. Groups of your friends, groups of his, a mixture. Like you and Anton, naturally walking alongside each other as the night chill grazes your skin, a welcome break from the blistering sun. 

"The glitter stars look good on you," Anton breaks the silence, eyeing the mass glitter stars outlining your eye, in the ironic shape of one too. "It's really creative."

"Thank you. It took a stupid amount of time to do," your cowboy boot kicks at a stray rock, the main field's noise being left behind in search of another. 

"Pretty worth it if you ask me."

The woodland is densely populated, all tall scrawny pale trees reaching far beyond the strain of your neck. Low enough for the eye to behold, shiny disco balls hang off the high branches, the poor festival staff having to scale the trees for aesthetics. It does its job though, string lights of the rainbow cascading with flashes that make the space feel like it's been clipped right out of a movie. A smoke machine from various DJ decks blows around the area, cloudy figures moving like apparitions to the elevated eye. 

After you and your new group of friends make your way through the Christmas market-like entrance, dark blue swirly patterns projected onto the red sand floor, your girls split off for the portable toilets, a meeting point of a Tiki bar agreed upon. Since it's still early days, the portable toilets don't swim with waste, three to four of people squeezing into the tight space. Baggies get pulled out of socks and bum bag pockets, pills and grained ketamine their inside contents. 

"I can't believe I'm letting you use my car keys," Sullyoon moans, breaking her blue pill apart. "If the car doesn't start, you're pushing us back to mine."

"It's your fault for saying to leave my keys at yours," you argue, sniffing the substance with a groan. Kazuha does a shitty job at covering it up, coughing after the fact. "Yeah, thanks." 

"You didn't warn me beforehand!" she yelps, squeezing into one of the corners. "You and Jinsol dropping one?"

"Her name is Molly!" Jinsol giggles, handed over half of the pill from Sullyoon. "I've genuinely never felt anything better. I obviously wouldn't push you to do it, but it's great."

"Don't worry, my pink gin gets me high enough for the both of us," Kazuha replies, eyebrow raised to you. "Ready to go?"

One last sniff and a lip-balm swatch earns your go ahead sign, looks of amusement tossed between your girls.

"Must be getting ready for Ant—"

You push her out the door, a stumble of a short ledge her price. Back again outside, the smoke-filled air greets you, a lightheadedness devouring your brain as your group walks back to the agreed meeting spot. There, where Heejin and Choerry purchase drinks for themselves and Kazuha, Yunjin floats over to you. A helpless snicker slips out, your hands cupping her face as your thumb pad swipes a few visible crushed grains on the tip of her nose, her heavy blush only strengthened by her natural one.

Because you can't help but tease, you yank her down her camo cap, her shriek meeting your ears. "What you think? This batch's pretty good, yeah?"

"It's strong, I've only had to do a fingernail after almost k-holing to Wish You Were Mine," she explains, readjusting her cap. "Good song, though."

"The best song, I-" a tap on the shoulder makes your words evaporate, head turning with a sliver of Yunjin's smiling face catching your eyes. "Anton," 

A mellowness lazily tugs at the corners of his lips, his head slightly tilted. "Sorry to keep you waiting. How about I get you an apology drink?"

"Yeah, you took longer than the girls," Yunjin interjects.

Heejin comes up beside her, sipping on her over-priced cocktail. "They were probably sword-fighting in there."

Anton immediately flushes, hands out in alarm. "We were not—"

His platinum blonde haired friend drops onto his shoulders, an arm slung around him with the kind of grin that only speaks of trouble. "He's just shy because he always wins. I mean, how could he not with—"

Anton damn nears folds his neck in half, a sharp look of mortification and warning in his eyes. His friend, who you remember now as Shotaro puffs out a shaky chuckle, patting Anton's chest to slow tempo. "I lied, actually. We were making out. Gotta kiss the homies goodnight, you know?"

Out of nowhere, a head of pink hair — Wonbin — jumps in, pressing a cheek kiss to Shotaro who flinches into himself, buried further when Anton does the same on the other cheek. In a feigned nonchalance, he ignores the unfolding scene of boyish fights and directs you over to the queue, hand curled on your elbow. The mere touch is enough to shoot electricity up your back, correcting the hunched posture. 

"I'm good without one," is your gentle decline, every sense of yours heightened. You need to go, expel all your fizzing energy now. "Let's go dance."

Your head turns to the rest of the group, ears flooded with excited shrieks and bumping music. Your foot taps along, body swaying soon after. "You coming?"

"Course," Heejin answers, head turning to the slithering sight beside her. 

Sohee slides closer, doing footwork similar to a moonwalk with the wave of his body, ending on the tips of his creased sneakers. Must do this often. "Gotta show everyone who's king."

He shows off a snaggletooth smile, so pure with the flex of his biceps, only for his face to fall when his cap is snatched. His deep pink hair is a frizzy mess underneath, sight unseen three seconds afterwards as he chases after the thief, a manically laughing Sungchan.

Your attention shifts back to Anton, who's in the middle of the world's great facepalm, echoed by the collective chaos of your groups mashed together. The dopamine-inducing sight reflects happiness back on your face, body still moving to the oontz oontz music and ultimately getting carried towards it.

Footsteps follow you close by, a stamped of others following close behind. Ignoring the clumpy sounds of grime, your body shimmies over to the packed crowd of dancing bodies, shoulders sunburnt with glow in the dark face paint on. Deep house moves their bodies, heads hitting every bass beat and you follow along, music travelling through you. 

The mob roars to life as the familiar lyrics of The Less I Know The Better come through, speakers blasting the remix of drum snares and heavy bassline. Expressions pull to show their satisfaction, pumping their fists harder with a mean two-step. Head in the clouds, energy bursts through you, your image a mere afterthought as your body moves on its own accord, appreciative yells coming from your group. You soak it in with a grin, the flutter of your eyes capturing the amazement mapped out on Anton's light-drenched face.

Songs go on, the DJ becoming a fan favourite as she remixes crowd pleasers with expertise, bumping along with her excited friends who hop and yell to every beat. Your mind can only hang onto fragments of everything, every blink a snapshot, but it's a movie each time, body bouncing around while you dance with friends. At one point, your fingers thread into Anton's, coaxing him with the words, "Shake your body up and down, let the rhythm take control." It's far better than the multiple take it off lyrics that come and go, but in hindsight, perhaps it could've gone without saying. After all, you thought you'd made it pretty apparent that you liked him.

Eventually, after one too many bathroom trips and songs, your body overheats to an uncomfortable degree, yelling to excuse yourself into Choerry's ear. Eclipsed in hues of orange and pink, she yells she'll go with you. Assuring her you'll be ok, you hear her yell out to text if anything goes amiss as you're shouldering through the crowd, coming out a bit bruised but happy enough to not mind.

Familiarity presents no hesitation in your movements as you wonder off into the woods for a breather, eyes floating between the Island-themed bars run out of caravans and dehydrated festival goers who plot down into any beach chairs available. Perhaps venturing alone into the woods should make you the kind of uneasy that has your eyes bouncing to every possible threat. However, with how large and busy the festival is, even places where the lights are reduced to mere specks, there's always someone loitering around: drunk girls proclaiming their forever-lasting friendship, a couple kissing against a tree, friends huddled with a suspicious chorus of sniffs. It's a bit of a mess; a mess you wouldn't have any other way. 

It's only when you've put some distance between the rave and yourself, you hear the call of your name.

"Wait!"

Your ears can't quite believe themselves, a slow turn unveiling your far-fetched guess.

"You didn't have to follow me out," breathlessness hints at your words, a rise and fall of your chest with each step you take. "I would've been fine."

"I needed the breather too," Anton reasons, only his thumbs visible as his hands slip into his front pockets. "Plus, I know better than leaving someone alone the woods."

The woods, as you amble further into, is hauntingly beautiful, unkept and largely left to its natural beauty. The trees are more dense here, branches folding over each other, trunks thicker, less vandalised. The party is distant, the ketamine having worn off and for the first time in repeated thirty minute intervals, you feel yourself relax, back inclined to lean against the tree behind you.

"I don't think the Big Bad Wolf is much of a raver," you laugh, crossed hands against the bark you press into. "He's busy terrorising others in red." 

"That's a shame, he'd really blow the roof off the place," Anton says in front of you, a stark silence settling in the aftermath of his words. "Sorry, that was so bad. Don't even— "

"I was wondering when you'd slip up," you can't help but snicker. "No one can be that smooth." 

His eyebrow raises curiously. 

“You’re making me nervous again,” his words carry over, only loud enough for the trees and you to hear. 

“I wasn’t even aware you were nervous,” you answer back, eyes looking left and right, unsure. “Why?”

A humourless laugh escapes him, a hand brushed over his lips to wipe the smile away. “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

You choose silence, pinching your lips together before something clever obliterates whatever following words Anton mulls over. A knit in his eyebrows with a gaze cast to the ground your only tell. It’s informative enough, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.

“Well,” his hand inches closer across the bark, a gulp travelling down your dry throat. “Well, let's just say it's not every day I get to hoist the prettiest girl on my shoulders." 

Floored is how best you can describe how you feel, stapled to the tree your rigid body doesn't dare moving against. The only thing that moves in concern with you is the heavy pump of your heart.

"There's 50,000 people here…" 

"My statement still stands," he answers, not budging. The silence between you is stifling. "Do with that information what you will. I just figured I'd let you know."

Dead leaves crunch under his mud-scuffed hiking boots, body turned as if to walk away. 

"Wait!" you call out, eyes wide like you've seen a ghost. Your chest labours, hand outstretched to Anton whose figure halos with the dulled lights of the faraway rave. "You can't just say that and leave."

His head tilts, arms crossed. Muscles flexing. "I wanted to give you space."

He knows what he's doing. He must, because why else would that easy smile be on his face for if not knowing your next words?

A moment's hesitation almost doesn't allow them to fall. Then, your mind remembers being at the top of the world on his shoulders, how sturdy and safe you'd felt atop them. His warm hands you reached out for on the dance floor, how his eyes could never leave yours even when yours closed. How the current between you is so different to anything you've experienced before, humming just beneath the surface. 

"What if I didn't want any?" are your whispered words, head ducked like there's shame in letting things be known. "You…you, come here and fix this."

Anton comes back immediately, stopping not even an inch in front of you. You catch pine notes and the sea breeze from his skin, radiating a warmth the night chill propels your body towards. 

"Fix what?" he whispers back, head tilted like he'll lean in. You really want him to. "Say the word,"

"Please," your hand grasps onto the front of his vest, desperate more than aggressive. "Just once."

He hums, considering your words. It kills a little part inside of you. 

"You're cute," he says against your lips, a gentle brush. "I'll bite."

Something entirely new happens to you when your lips meet, a gasp muffled against his mouth as you fall apart. Against the rough bark of the tree, your body melts like molten lava, helped only by the loose fumble of your hands against his cheeks, firm hands on your hips. His lips are soft, pursuing you with a gentleness you chase after, arms circling him as your need to be close grows. He groans into your mouth, a soft gasp your response as he presses you further into the tree. When you're through, your body will adorn the marks of his passion, a dull sensation to your back while your world never remains the same again.

"Fuck," his breath fans over your lips, not baring to part from you. "You sound so sweet. Wonder where else you're sweet."

You whimper into him, body running hot as you feel the slide of his smile on your lips. He's holding you like you're something precious, cheeks cupped with the utmost of delicacy and the want just pours out of you, raving your body that desires nothing more to be closer to him. For him to touch you everywhere, to kiss you everywhere too.

"That's it, take my hand where you want it."

Your breath gets caught somewhere in your throat, a blaze set to your skin as your hand tremors over his — knowing where it should go, but not having the gall to follow through. Attuned to your hesitancy, his hand inches by the millimetre down your torso, shiver left in his wake. Eager fingers slot between his for a second, a grasp to take control as you move down until you leave his palm against the safety shorts under your dress.

"You're warm through your shorts. Is that all for me?" He has the audacity to say, smiling to the whine you do. "It's okay, go ahead. You need it, don't you?"

Of course you do. So bad your mind's thrown of rationality in pursuit of the pleasure he may give you. He slots a flexed thigh between your leg, offering a sturdy surface as your hips give out experimental rolls. With so many layers pinched together, the friction generated makes you shiver with a shaky moan, lips trembling away from his. He chases after you, teasing nibbles on your bottom lip done to ruin you, so starved for him your hips rut with every last inch of your need. 

A wolf whistle pierces through the night, commending cheers too boyish for your liking following the aftermath. Brought back to reality, your body can only freeze in terror as a group of shirtless guys in reflective sunglasses clap their hands for Anton, teasing raises of their eyebrows from two-tree rows away.

"Oh my god," you part, an immediate side-step behind the very same tree you'd been caught doing…that on. 

When the obnoxious men are out of ear shot, dead leaves crunch as Anton shuffles closer, his tongue grazing where your lips last were. If you weren't ablaze in embarrassment, you'd probably climb him like a tree. 

"I got a bit carried away there," he huffs, finger pulling at the neckline of his vest. There's minimal visibility here, but enough to catch the heat radiating off him and its accompanied flush. He even has a stray star from your cheek. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just— " your hand swap at the side of your face not plastered with stars, the knot in your stomach still ongoing. "Maybe we should head somewhere more private?"

The suggestion appears to surprise him, eyes flaring with it as his head jerks back a bit. A moment blankets the two of you, his hand raised to run over his throat, consideration heavy in the air. 

"You want to?" he asks instead. 

Your answer is close to immediate. 

"Yeah." 

He pauses, allowing for a beat where you change your mind, examine your options, consolidate an out.

It never comes.

"Okay. Did you want to tell your friends you're going? Or did you want my driver's license?" he's already sifting through his back pocket for the sleek leather, flipping it open. "That way, they have my details."

A safety precaution. 

One you hadn't really considered. It wasn't often you went off with someone at a festival, the extent being making out with a random during Loyle Carner's set. Rookie mistake, not because your friends clowned you for the rest of the night, but because you'd ruined your chances with Carner who could apparently see you in the middle of the crowd. 

However, as you stand before Anton, whose lips are plump with your kisses and moles on his face good enough to bite, you take your chances. Forgoing travelling back to the rave where your friends are and shooting a quick text, the last of your battery used to send his drivers license where he looks offensively good in. Once sent, your brain catches up to the rabbiting in your chest, clustered rave music jumbled in your ears as you look at him with hopeful eyes, the same reflected back at you. 

"Should we get going?"

The walk to your tent is relatively quiet, the festival making up in non-syllable form. Fingers intertwined, you wonder if he can feel it — the thump of your pulse under his palm, the clamminess of yours. He's the one whose said his sweet confession and yet here you are, shaking like a leaf. When the idea of his attractiveness crossed your mind, no amount of foresight could've brought you here. It's always in passing, acknowledging handsome guys to your friends with nothing done of the matter. Rejection is the overarching reason, but it didn't apply now. Not in the slightest, his desire to be with you overriding the decency of having you behind closed doors. 

Before you get the chance to gulp, your boots thump to a halt, seven-man tent in plain view. It's the first night but the campsite is already chaos — pitched tents, more camp chairs than people while more trash and crushed beer cans litter the patchy greens. Ain't nothing like home.

Through the mess of your bumbag, you somehow manage to find the keys to the tent, shaky hands jiggling the lock. Once both through, you lock back up before standing to your feet, showcasing the common room/Sullyoon's & Jinsol's room. Shades of pastel pink and mint green cascade from the walls of the tent, stray pillows to match. Makeup brushes astray with a trunk stashed with the alcohol you snuck in, the permitted amount perched on the top. 

"I think this room is the size of our entire tent," he marvels, hunched over with wondering eyes. If he's nervous, you can't tell. "Sohee, Taro and I will probably end up sharing a bed — not that Sohee minds."

Then, your eyes catch, knowing smirks volleyed. It undoes the bundled nerves in your stomach, if only by a few centimetres. 

"Sounds better than my set-up," your voice trails, eyes finding his. "Did you wanna see…?"

His eyes flare, a sinking pit plummeting down your belly. "Yes, please."

Your section of the tent isn't glamorous by any means, yourself and Yunjin having packed so much that you had to settle for sleeping bags, waterproof shells of a bed stationed next to each other. Atop yours, your legs cross, Anton's long limbs stretched instead, but he's close. Close enough for a hint of cinnamon and sea salt to hit your nose, the warm spice of his cologne elevating the summer heat inside the suddenly small tent. 

Idle conversation is made: sets you're hoping to catch over the weekend, activities you're waiting to do. There's a lot of crossover, like how you'd both like to go to the mini carnival on the last day, listen to Kings of Leon's set while soaring through the pink sunset sky. 

"I couldn't imagine being anywhere better." he says, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

He doesn't say the obvious out loud —  with you, but you hear it all the same. React the same too, breaths deepening as your hand inches up to hover his, chocolate brown eyes reflecting up to yours. 

"Me being here doesn't have any implications," he states, a gentleness to his features. There's minimal light in the tent, save for the soft peach orange omitted from Yunjin battery-powered light. He's stunning in it, as he is in others. "We do whatever you're comfortable with." 

"I know, I just— " you huff, searching for the words, the composure. Since when did he have this power over you? "I never know how to…"

Initiate, take the leap of faith.

You'd hit the ground one too many times doing so.

"It's okay," your hand falls from over his, warm presence to your cheek with his thumb's caress. It's comforting, enough to lean into. "I'm here."

I'll guide you. 

The whisper, though never uttered, ripples a chill down your spine, foreheads coming together. Moments pass, close in the intimacy of observation, some shadows cast but your eyes and lips readily in view. This near, you see the mole just beside his nose, like a far dropped tear. His eyelashes do a gradual flutter, pink dusted over the height of his cheekbones. Then you hear it. 

Faint, but unmistakable — the thud of his pulse. Your hand searches for it, fingertips ghosting over thin skin, the pump of his heartbeat fast, contesting with yours. 

You can't help but chuckle, him following along in the bit of sheepishness you wish you could sink your teeth into. So, you do, head angled up to connect your lips again. Somehow, it's better than the first, the butterflies swarming all around you in a delicate dance, body lurching for his. His hand sneaks to the back of your head, pressing you against him, noses folded over each other. You can't get enough, dull burn so good you're moaning into his mouth while his tongue glides over your pried lips. You part further, because you want more too, like everything him pressing you into the tree promised. 

Moving on its own accord, your body folds towards him, a gentle push back as his hands desert your body to support himself, top half shadowing yours. Naturally, your body falls backwards, lowered slowly with your lumpy pillow acting a cushion. Anton kisses you throughout, plump lips the pillow you wished your head would lay upon, drunk off the taste of grape Soju and peppermint. His body brackets yours, arms holding himself up as the rest of him shifts between your legs. You've never hated the shorts beneath your dress more, clothes sticking to blotches of skin. 

Like he said, Anton's here. Hands doing a slow ascent up the flesh of your thighs, he gives you every opportunity to say no — it never comes. Consent echoes in the strained whines hanging in the back of your throat, rough fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts, smiling at the quiver of skin. 

No time's waisted as he pulls them off you, tossed away somewhere as your legs cross over his back. It's a crutch you fully lean into, need growing by the tenfold as your slick-lined gusset brushes over the bulge in his jeans, back straightening to the feel. He feels…like a lot, desperation unleashing the moans blending into the quiet lock of your lips. A dampened grunt, deep from his chest, sounds when your hips show the extent of your desperation, core grinding hopelessly against him. 

"Shit," he mutters into you. "Hang on, lemme…"

It's the first time your lips truly part since settling atop the sleeping bag, swishing against his movement while his tongue licks away stringed-saliva connecting you two. Further away, he lowers himself, your body hoisting itself onto propped elbows as you beg the question:

"What are you—"

Perfectly slotted between your legs, he peers up at you, pupils fully blown, hands hanging off the hem of your underwear. "Oh,"

Your hand reaches over to his, sheepishness creasing your expression. "You don't have to."

His hand eclipses yours, a firm sincerity in his umber eyes. "I want to."

The only response you manage is a gulp, heat blossoming across your cheeks. All you can do is relax back against your arms, willing yourself not to sound as desperate as you feel while he trails slow kisses down your navel. It's almost trance-like, watching him worship your body, decorating in adoring caresses and chaste kisses, drenching your slick-lined underwear as he picks skin on your inner thigh, gentle love bruises left to remember him by. Hands once fidgeting at your sides curl into his head of waves, teeth sunken into the plump of your lip to conceal your whimpers. A poor job as evidenced by his reserved chuckles, vibration against your skin leading right where you need him — close, but not enough. Hovering, instead of descending where needed.

"Anton," his name comes out in a whine, your expression creased. Drum and bass is alive and well beyond the secrecy of your tent. All you hear is an incessant heartbeat. "We don't have much time. Please."

He pauses high up against your knee, a lasting peck left before he leans his head to your spread thighs, hair tickling your kneecap. "You need me?"

An electric current shoots down your back, brightening your eyes. "I-"

"It's okay, sweet girl," his words hang in the stiff air, kissing a trail from your mid-thigh while you buckle beneath him. He blinks back, seeing right through you. "You're pretty when you can't hide it."

A flush blooms across your sizzling skin, a helplessness to your own desires as features curve into a plead. "Anton, please. I need you — fingers, mouth, anything. Just—"

Words die on your tongue, coming out in a choppy rushed pants as his veined hands pull back your underwear, a string of slick sticking to the wet gusset. The hunger in his eyes intensifies, soiled underwear tossed over his shoulder, forgotten for the sight between your thighs. The fan of his breath enough to make you clench.

"Wanted to do this all night," he muses, a pillowy kiss to your clit. It's a minor action, almost missable, but with a body attuned to his every move, you crumble. He kisses you again just to watch you shudder, only chuckling as he envelopes your clit and folds in a slow, melting kiss. 

It's stupidly good, the feeling of his mouth on you as he kisses you like he did in the forest, slow and dizzying. Moving languidly as if to memorise your taste at every angle. Warm pleasure blooms within, coursing through your bloodstream, fingers weaving through his hair.

When you relax into the slow-mouthed kisses, he surprises you with the swirl of his tongue, broad and all over your clit. A high whine slips through, prolonged to a deep moan as Anton licks up from your weeping hole to your clit again, humming into the flesh. 

Fingers tug automatically, hair released in afterthought. 

“It’s okay,” he chuckles, voice octaves lower. “You can grab my hair. I like it.”

Such innocent words come together, yet paint the opposite. Images quickly shuffle through your hazed-mind, legs wrapped around his middle like a bow as he thrusts up into you, moans and gasps filling the tent. The muscles in his back flexed, beaded sweat a sheen to flushed skin your tongue brushes over, insatiable. He's a bit breathless, as you are, whining low in his throat in a way your ears will remember and burn with. It's so good, it hurts the more you—

"Here?"

Your back bends off the sleeping bag's surface, head lolled back. 

"Is this where you're weak?" he rasps, finger curled to nudge deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot. 

If not for how good you feel right now, you'd be ashamed of how loud you're moaning. 

"Fuck, you sound so good," he grunts, head shaking as he laps at your clit."Want a finger? Why don't you ask me for another?"

Teeth gnaw into the plush of your lip, anticipation rigging your breath ragged as you pant. You're so high off the simple curl of his finger your brain struggles catching up to his words.

"Hm? Want me to finger fuck you?"

That catches your attention, stomach pulling taut. You're nodding, not trusting your voice even if your confirmation still comes out in a breathy, "yes." 

"I didn't take you as greedy," his voice haunts the halls of your mind. Distant yet alluring, evoking an endless desire. "It's okay, I'll give you what you want. I'll keep you satisfied."

Another finger slips in, just as easy as the first. An unmistakable squelch reverberates through the flimsy walls of the camping tent, hitting your ears again and again as Anton keeps hitting that spot in you, drowning you further in a pool of ecstasy. 

"More," he prompts, voice a whisper. "I wanna hear you more. Do it for me."

You don't mean to, your body just complies. No memory serves comparable to what you're experiencing now, pleasure threshold surpassed as your body floats, carried on the cloud of his hands and mouth.

"You're close, aren't you? You're shaking." There's a lick of condescend behind his words, building you up to your demise. "It's okay, we're not finished here. You can come."

The coil snaps, body coming undone. White streaks before your eyes, head flying back as your hands keep his head between your legs, crashing and burning. Hearing nothing but your own screech, you miss the clear liquid drenching Anton's face, making a small pool atop the waterproof sleeping bag. The man between your legs can't quite believe it, huffed disbelief fanning over your cunt as his fingers work you through the release, kitten licks to your clit eventually bucked off due to overstimulation. 

"So sensitive," he remarks after you regain hearing again, body like jelly. "Look at the mess you made with just my fingers and mouth. Imagine what my cock would do…"

Through batted eyelashes, you peer over at him, limbs buzzing. In the shadows of the tent, his lower face shines with your slick, an almost black to his eyes. At least he has the decency to blush so you're not alone, pinkish hue buried beneath his cheek as his hands go for his belt. 

The metal clink of his belt buckle echoes, louder than the rave music a short distance away. With parted legs, Anton's eyes would have watched your cunt clench down on nothing but the image of his cock. Except your eyes are trained on each other, layers of clothing peeled back to reveal who you two really are. 

You couldn't pry yourself from him if you tried. Not when—

A sudden blare of a Fontaines DC song slices through the tent, Anton the first to look away as his jaw ticks with simmered annoyance. It quickly unwinds when he sees the caller ID, phone screen illuminating his face as he takes the call. 

"What's up?" 

An deep exhale lets out of your strained lungs, arms tired from being propped. Gently, your head falls to your beloved festival pillow, lumpy from being packed all kinds of wrong ways. Staring up at the ceiling provides you the chance to piece thoughts together. Everything happened so fast, straggling away from your crowd, smitten words, body pushed up against the bark, held hands on the way to your tent — this. You don't have any words for it because frankly, you've never felt this way before. So at the mercy of someone, someone who learns your tells and shows them to you before you can catch wind. It spins you off your axis, discombobulating what you know as the truth, all with his mouth and fingers.

You're so fucking screwed.

"Hey," his voice calls, a gentle guide back to him. He's got his chin dipped to his chest, a wince to his face. "The guys are with Eunseok at the med-tent, apparently he's in a bit of a k-hole," 

You scramble to sit up, pushing your bunched up dress down over your legs. "Oh my god, is he okay?"

"Probably. This happens often — believe it or not. The last time, he thought the pillar in the club was talking to him," his hand ruffles through his hair, a chuckle coming out that doesn't seem all that amused. Slack at his sides, his arms fall, hands securing his belt back in place. 

Somehow, the sombre silence compels you to jest. "I can't laugh because the one time I came close to one, I skid the skin off my knees running to the girls,"

His veined hands circles around your calf, ghosting the material upto the faded dark patches over your knees. "You're silly. And need to take better care of yourself."

"I was meeting new people that night — overcompensated with all the mixing," you laugh, sound coming out more breathy than intended, Anton's thumb grazing over the skin. His head of hair dips, a sweet kiss inflicting the rise of immediate goosebumps, something like cockiness leftover in his smile. 

"I'm sorry we can't continue," he whispers, slopes of his face emphasized in minimal light. Your heartbeat still prevails over the noise of the festival, house music nothing but a background murmur. "I really, really wanted to," 

Your gaze drops, his erection tucked away, but still very evidently there. 

Dryness coats your throat, cleared in an effort to speak. "Me too."

"The guys and I are gonna be at the beach tomorrow," he suggests, caressing. Always caressing. His eyelashes flutter when he looks through them, at you."I was hoping you could make it there?"

The smirk paints itself, a teasing eyebrow raised. "If you wanted to see me in a bikini so bad, you should've said so."

"I'd rather see you in nothing at all," a force pulls at your legs, his strength pulling you to crash land on his lips. Huffed against you, his need cycles between you two, restraint wavering in a shuddered breath. "Let me go…before I don't go at all."

On your feet, your backs are bent to hunch-walk through the low-ceiling tent, zipped out and back into the wilderness of festival life. Humidity clings to your skin, along with kicked up dust and spotty drizzle. Cheers from the makeshift amusement rides hover close by, lights shining into the sky like a signal. They're no match for the stars, devastatingly bright and reflected back in Anton's eyes as his attention falls to only you.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" his thumb glosses over your knuckles, not quite letting you go.

"Tomorrow." you confirm, a steady nod double proof. 

A lone lip corner picks up at it, teeth indents made into his bottom lip as he dares to pull away, his touch with you until the top of your fingertips. Then, he starts to disappear, parts of his body disappearing past the mass of camping tents. Your body borders on cold, the welcome breeze turning arctic cold. Teeth chatter call for rubbing hands across your upper arms, watching as he walks to his right, towards the med tent. 

Eyes not having left yours, h mouths something like go inside, but you shoo him away, watching each other until neither is visible. Other festival goers come and go, some having DMCs outside their tent while others snog in them. None of them concern you.

Out of the 50,000 attendees, your mind only lingers on one. 

Him and his promise of the beach come tomorrow.

At the beach is a welcome break away from the festival. According to earlier forged traditions, before you'd even check out the festival's stalls or hunt for a dealer, you'd have an afternoon dip in the ocean. Surrounded by moss-covered boulder rocks, the beach is the perfect picture of serene. Vast deep blue, waves outlined in calming porcelain with buttermilk sand serving as its barrier. You'd yell and scream, splashing each other in clothes you'd leave outside your tent to dry, hoping they'd still be there after early-morning venturing raves.

You hadn't fulfilled your tradition this year, the growing attraction to your beloved getaway causing nightmare queues driving into the festival. Some people even walked, lawn chairs and tents slugged under their arms with bucket hats of every colour imaginable on their heads. By the time you'd reached the grounds, midnight blue blanketed the sky and Sullyoon's foot hurt too much from clutch use in start-and-stop traffic. Most of your seven member group hangs back before checking out any last-minute sets, yourself and Kazuha wandering off to the lookout cliff, few friends and coupled straggled around the view overlook the dark ocean. 

"I'm glad we're doing this," you find yourself saying, arms crossed over knees pressed to your chest. "A lot's changed, but at least this hasn't."

"I am too," she muses with an easy smile. "It's been a…weird year. I don't think I was expecting. it."

Graduating university, finding your feet in the adult world, living miles apart from each other. You'd spent so much time with each other leading up to graduation and over the summer that meetups seemed like they'd never end. Like seeing each other every week was a law of the universe. However, as the seasons changed, life makes the unexpected demand for you to be apart, busied by other aspects that require all your attention. You met up when you could, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Heck, you hadn't seen Yunjin in a year before this. 

The wind whistles past your ears, blowing at your hair. 

"Yeah," your agreement is hard to hear, softened by longing. "Me neither."

Out your peripheral, Kazuha turns to you, shoulder nudging into the hand picking at grass. "We've still got this weekend and each other after that. Lots of time to make memories too."

A smile does a slow glide across your face. "Like you getting shouted at in the med tent?"

"I was trying to cheer Jinsol up!" she argues, laughing. "She was scared half to death."

"Yeah, that's what happens when you have a bad trip," you face palm, laughing too. "You either be a good friend and sit still or you get out my tent." 

"Then we all got kicked out," Kazuha folds into you, head on your shoulder. "That pill was really good."

"Yeah, you were more pupil than eyes," your head leans against hers. "I can't wait for the rave in the woods."

I can't wait to make make more memories with you.

"Me too."

After last night's events, the girls are all teasing smirks and quick-raised eyebrows, not asking questions but pretty damn close to it. Even if you don't volunteer information, they know you left with him, see the soft bruising he left on your chest. In the shape of a heart nonetheless. High school or uni didn't offer the enjoyed hell of having a hickey, so it's a bit new. Pressing into the bruising, covering it with concealer, knowing it'll wash off in the ocean. 

On your way there, the chill of the mid-morning tingles numbness into your fingers, you lingering behind your five, side by side with Heejin. 

"I could do with a full breakfast after this," she mentions, squinting at the brightness of the clouded sun. "Turns out not being deathly hungover actually diminishes your appetite." 

"Who would've though," you play along, some sand getting in between your toes. You're coming up to the flight of stairs leading to the beach, sea breeze fierce enough for squeals. "To be fair, that was our first year here and we got carried away with sneaking in alcohol." 

"Those portable charger flasks were our best purchase of the year."

"We got lucky they didn't check all our water packs."

"God bless Yunjin's flirting skills."

"And my VS push-up bra!" she yells ahead, laughter rippling through your group.

Shaking her head, Heejin braces a hand on the rusted metal railing, careful steps onto slanted concrete. "Speaking of bras…."

"Here we go."

A playful shove jostles you towards the opposite railing. "What? Was the tall drink of a man a bust?"

The opposite, actually. "Nah, not even close."

"Oh?"

"But we got interrupted," you sigh, growing beach population dotted amidst the sand. "He said he'd be at the beach today."

"You kept that quiet," she jokes, stepping off the last step. "Well, the beach is pretty big. You'd be lucky if— "

"There they are!" 

Not far from where your group clutters around the bottom of the staircase, Anton's friends occupy a spread of the beach, surfboards, tie-dye towels and a sandcastle amongst their many possessions. Some adorn surf vests while others tan shirtless, ocean's droplets trailing their skin. Unfortunately for you, Anton belongs to the latter, in the middle of taking off his surfers shirt.

At the mention of your group, his head emerges from the piece of clothing, blinking his surprise away. For a moment, there's a flare of self-consciousness, the bob of his Adam's apple evident, but when knowing presents itself in his smile, only you remain flustered. 

Despite clouds crowding the Sun, your skin burns with a sharp prickle, a sinking drop of want conjured in your belly. Thoughts instantly revert to last night, in the low-light of the tent, his face between your legs, lapping at you like you would quench his thirst. The hint of condescend hanging behind his goading words, how he smiled against— 

"You coming?" Yunjin hollers, trance broken. Beyond you, the girls situate themselves within the group, space cleared for your presence. Where Yunjin calls from, she points to a chair conveniently stationed where Anton sits. "Saved you a seat."

As if they couldn't make it any more obvious.

Not that anyone else didn't know. You could the bemused smirks and poorly hid stifled snickers from a mile away. 

Looks like your beach day would be everything but relaxing.

Fallen closed, your eyes flutter open, an almost reluctant sigh out your mouth before your flip flops trudge through the grainy sand. Under their comically large parasol, Anton gazes up at you, book stationed in his lap.

"You read?" 

"That's what I was thinking!" Yunjin rips open a bag of chips, tossing some in her mouth. "Thought he was doing the whole performative male thing to impress you."

"Well, not that he hasn't from what I've heard," she shrugs at your appalled expression, focus directed to the man next to you. "I'd school you in feminist literature, so don't even try."

A good-hearted chuckle is introduced, featherlight against your spine. "The world doesn't need me mansplaining feminist literature, don't worry,"

"Besides, I don't get the whole performative male trend thing anyways," he explains, sitting back in his chair, hips jutting in adjustment. Your head is on a prompt swivel afterwards. "Were guys not reading books before?"

In sheer coincidence, all six of your friends look at each other before laughter breaks out, the deep, chesty kind that has you doubled over, teary-eyed. The guys look to each other, taken aback. 

Except for Sungchan, eyes creased with mirth. "I can't remember last time I read one."

"Think I last read one in like, grade two," Sohee offers.

"Explains why you can't differentiate between you're and your." Anton jokes, teasing smirk not deterred by the fake punch Sohee jabs his way.

Wonbin's nose crinkles, slouching further into his blue and white chair fit for a child. "I tried the whole performative thing, couldn't hack the taste of matcha." 

Hovering just behind him, Seunghan rolls his eyes, bleached eyebrows on their last legs. "Clairo was my top artist last year. I've been setting trends."

"Okay, enough with the ego battle," Heejin's eyebrow knit, nodding her head towards the source of her observation. "What's up with the sandcastle?"

It's pretty impressive, all things considered. Dolphins line the exterior of the castle, the two-storey sandy architecture dotted with small plastic starfish and seashells that have somehow found their way into Wonbin's and Shotaro's hair. 

"It's halfway made, had to stop since Sohee complained about getting sand in his eye," Shotaro explains with comedic timing, head turned back to witness Eunseok kick up more sand into his eyes, his shriek accompanied with his friend's laugh. "Wanna finish it?"

On her stripped green and white beach towel, she and Choerry share a look. Then shrug. "Why not?"

The communal conversation ends, people branching off into their beach activities of the day: sandcastle building, tanning and going for a dip in the ocean. You fall back into your designated chair, almost winded from the conversation.

"All I did was ask you a question." you muse, swiping the side of your face, laughing a little.

"That's how it always is — with us, anyways," Anton explains, slouching into his chair. He's got black shades on, sitting pretty on his nose bridge, your stomach's residing butterflies alive and well. "Despite how soft we speak, we actually talk a lot."

Your grin's shit-eating, hand clasped over your ear with a lean over to him. "What was that?"

Something about being with him makes you seesaw between playfulness and nervous wreck. It's the only time you welcome the tide changes. "Had to, sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I should be," he adjusts himself with the lift of his hips, his knee knocking against yours. An air of earnestness comes in with the sea breeze, his sunglasses used to push back his hair, nothing coming between his gaze on you. "I left yesterday." 

He's said it, acknowledged it. Not pretend nothing ever happened like the other douches you had the displeasure of meeting, with your friends present too.

"To tend to a friend, yes," you heave out, hands running up and down the grain of your cargo jorts. Was it always this hot? "Is he feeling any better?" 

Repeated huffs make their way to your ears, attention directed to beyond your mix of friends, Eunseok and Sohee busy themselves with fake jabs and ducked heads. Sohee's motions are more fluid, a jab almost landed to the surprise of them both. Eunseok then prompts him to watch, the older of the two lifting up into a random backflip.

Anton and yourself look at each other, bitten back amusement heavy in your disbelief. 

"Yeah, think so," he answers, a chuckle at the end. Then it dulls completely, only waves crashing and distant conversation hanging around. "Did you enjoy? Last night, I mean."

Your breath stutters, an upheaval in your chest. In the slump of your exhale, your head turns away, nails grating into the chair's wooden arms. 

"Did you?" you ask. Your throat clears, scratchy and lodged. "We didn't get to you."

"What I get isn't the main priority." 

Fuck.

The mouth on this guy. 

Suddenly, the heat dials up to intolerance, skin prickling under layers you shoot out your chair to remove. 

"You going for a dip? I'm kinda feeling hot."

In the ruckus of you tearing off clothing items, his murmured "Wonder why," hits your ears. A look tossed over your shoulder earns held up hands of surrender, something akin to bashful in his features.

His bones creak as he stands, toned torso in plain sight. It's the very reason why your eyes were averted throughout the conversation, ocean droplets hanging off his body in a mean taunt. He could say the same thing as he watches you shimmy out of your jorts and baby tee, bikini draping your curves like a fitted glove. For what feels like a rarity, he coughs into his fist with the turn of his head, hoping you don't see the blush creeping to his cheeks.

You do.

Timidity melts with hours spent in the sun, easiness in your interactions with Anton and his group that quickly become close friends with yours. Some things may skew under the influence but not your opinion of their group, their playful boyish nature almost endearing to be around. The kind of guys who know how to have fun without the expense of someone else, all good natured fun. After your dip in the ocean, water splashed around while you and Anton revert to your child selves, you join your big group again, spectators and eventual participants in tales traded in the conversation that never runs dry. 

Sometime later, when the sun's more gentle on the skin, the girls and yourself trudge your way over to the surf tournament on the opposite end of the beach. The guys hang back to move all their plentiful belongings to the campsite, their seats reserved in the circle you manage to carve out in the tightly packed beach, terrain full of enthusiasts who cheer and clap during warm-ups. 

"Hey," Sullyoon calls out, phone brightness on high to show off the photo of Larry the Lobster next to Jinsol's sunburnt face. "Spot the difference." 

She earns a shove to their shared beach towel, snickers circling round your group. "Not funny. I thought I re-applied it."

Smacking on gum, Kazuha's line of sight lingers on the surfer girl walking past, golden hair like ocean waves. "Too busy thinking about last night." 

Mouth slacking, you knock her knees in surprise. "What happened last night?" 

"You weren't the only one who got some, " Sullyoon chuckles, arms crossing around knees she brings to her chest. "We all saw Jinsol make-out with Wonbin in 4K," 

"I was high on molly!" Jinsol protests, looking for believers amongst none. "I loved everyone at that moment!"

Heejin does a poor job at hiding her amusement, digging her feet into the sand. "No one mentioned love," she muses.

"I get it though. If I kissed someone who pulled off pink hair that well, I'd fall too."

A whistle blows, warm-ups over with the MCs's voice broadcasts throughout the beach, string of surfer lingo lost on you as your group simply resorts to clapping, laughing at Heejin's remark.

"I'm not—" Jinsol's voice reaches an all-time high, the sheer volume making her hunch into herself. Fiddle with the hem of her oversized linen shirt."It was a one time thing, okay?"

Sullyoon nudges her with her shoulder, a kinder tint to her smirk. "Didn't look it." her head falls to her best friend's shoulder, a tinge of longing in her tone. "Can't believe I've been replaced."

Jinsol detects it immediately, a kiss laid upon Sullyoon's cooper brown locks. 

"I could never replace you."

The same sentiment carries through to all six of you huddled together, reliving every past summer with them at your side. Even when the guys come back and settle in like they'd never left, the feeling never diminishes. A red string of fate weaves itself around your pinkies, another one quietly tethering itself to the man sat behind you.

Waking up Sunday morning fills your body with a satisfied sadness. Every year is like this, shuffling around cocooned in your sleeping bag, chatting in stripped voices with friends who are already reliving the weekend's memories. Again, you swear you'll come back next year and every year in university, that was one of life's certainties. However, now when one or two echo the same sentence, you're holding onto straws as tight as possible, wishing — praying it's true. Because, how after four years of coming here, is this the best year yet? 

Excluding Anton's presence, something feels so purposeful about this year. Time carved out with the intention to be together like before, because you're not afforded that casual luxury anymore. Each joke, hug, tumble and song belted together feels all the more special, soul finding its true home in the bodies of your lovely six — the girls you wouldn't trade for anything. Not even for the feeling Anton gives you. 

In a way, he feels like a first. A bouquet of them all wrapped in one — the only you've orbited around and hasn't wanted to lose you in the crowd. Hell, he'd even reach for you like he did when your groups split for different night DJ sets. How ever small the action, it still sticks with you, still does as you're munching on pain au chocolats for breakfast, Heejin smiling a chocolate-chip stained smile for your group in the common room. Laughter surrounds you, everyone so happy, even more so when Kazuha leans in with a stuck out tongue as if to lick it. Heejin cowers, Kazhua collapsing into her lap and it's so beautiful it hurts. Your head leans to your closest, Choerry's shoulder sturdy as you've always known it to be. Even though you can't see it, you hear her smile before her head angles onto yours, united like you've always been.

Like you'll always be.

After freshening up and getting dressed for the day, your plentiful jewellery jangles with each step, making your way to the morning stages. Half the festival's still asleep, groggy over the non-stop days and nights partying. You're all plagued with fatigue, but it doesn't make itself known, triumphing over the fuzzy feeling as your arms drape over each other's shoulders, at the barricade of a small-time DJ your group's been obsessed since your second year, his remix all on your music wrapped top five songs. Not many others are at the set, maybe three to four waves of people behind your bodies but it doesn't deter the DJ. He's even smiling, egged on by the obnoxious belting your friends do to your beloved remix, two fingers flicked into the air.

"I thought it was a myth!" Jinsol yells into your ear, a laughing look of disbelief. "A real-life frat boy flick — in the flesh!"

"You're doing amazing, sweetie!" The comment hurls from you, Sullyoon to your right having detached from you to do a frenzied two step, pumping her body with a complimentary frat flick. It's ridiculous, so much that your stomach cramps from long laughter. But it's so needed, all the hours you spend together before and afterwards. 

Two sets and a lot of dancing later, you grab fish and chips by the beach, ducking and diving in the sand from overly friendly seagulls. After they've snagged half your meal, you all dip your toes in the ocean, kicking up water with the excuse of cooling off. Eventually, your hands clasp together, patches of sea water embedded into your flowy clothing, a firm promise to comeback sent into the universe. 

This time, you don't doubt it to be true. 

At the height of early afternoon, after crawling the trampled grounds for other acts and photo opportunities, you eventually settle on visiting the carnival. There's teacups, a Ferris Wheel and rigged games you play anyways, a stroke of luck awarding Choerry a large Care Bear she promises to share group-wide custody with. Your weekend mascot, Kazuha supplies. 

In the chaos of ring toss and going dizzying-green on the teacups, you almost miss sight of him. Almost. If not for you bumping into him, hands steadying yourself on his chest. 

You blink away the dizzy film across your eyes, swivelled head coming to rest as you feel a chuckle rumble beneath your hands.

"You ok there?"

The same smile plays on his face, figure haloed by the beginnings of a sunset. "Never better."

"Did you enjoy the beach?" he asks, no move done to remove your hands. 

His hands come to rest on your hips, your own bubble created off to the side of the rides. Out the corner of your eye, yours and his friends intersect, dishing out hugs like family. 

"How'd you know I was there?" your eyebrow quirks, hands smoothing over the collar of his black and white baseball long-sleeve. "You stalking me?"

His eyes crease like you're a comedian. "If I knew your handle, then yes,"

"But there's a seashell in your hair," he muses, one hand retrieving it to put it between you two. Iridescent shell curving itself, pearl white its outer shell. "Is this how you keep it safe for the ride home?"

"You'd be surprised what my hair can keep," you respond, the shrieks of teacup riders a hair width away. "Seashells, secrets."

"What secrets?" 

Your hand beckons him over, his head dipped as he lends you an ear, hand cupping around it. On the height of your toes, you whisper. "Kings of Leon are on in five. Let's line up for the Swing Tower." 

Anton pulls away, a deep nod his answer. "We should get going, shouldn't we?"

His head turns behind him, flagging his friends close by. "We're gonna ride the Swing Tower if you wanna join?"

"We'll leave you lovebirds alon— " Sohee's silenced by Shotaro's hand over him, rest of his sentences muffled but widely known. 

"We'll be right behind you." Shotaro says with a convincing smile, eyes moon crescents behind his thin-rimmed silver glasses. 

Another knowing look is traded between Anton and yourself before you lead your group to the queue steps away, Anton's hand a ghost on your lower back. The quiet presence anchors you in place, the floating feeling of a good trip settling in. In the odd gusts of faint wind, you conversate with those closest to you — Seunghan, Wonbin along with Sullyoon and Jinsol. Something about other festivals you've been to over the years, one out of the many mentioned aligning at the start of September. 

"Starting off the summer and ending it together," Wonbin gathers, arms folding. "It's like fate, no?"

Somehow, your eyes find Anton's, startled but all too aware, you would've found each other then. 

"It is." he answers, only to you.

A long moment keeps you unmoving, the orange sun splaying over his large pupils. Without meaning to, your attention strays, witnessing the downturned smiles of the four others. You're about to breach another conversation topic before the worker maning the queue calls you forward, an onslaught of previous customers shuffling off in a line next to you.

Ascending the rickety metal stairs of the ride, jitters nibble away at your flesh. All the restless anticipation built over the day boils down to now, a time where the excitement crosses over into nervous territory with Anton leading the way. You simply follow along to a swing fit for two, its hot pink shade an eyestrain. You fiddle with your rings the entire way, plotting down with the laboured rise and fall of your chest. A real sense of entrapment comes when the same worker comes over, heavy safety bar crushing you into place. 

Somewhere behind you, you hear something akin to Yunjin and maybe Eunseok's yells despite the swing not moving yet. You want to look back, but you're frozen in place, knees weak enough to give out. Thank goodness you were—

Warmth blankets the top of your hand, your palm strikingly cold against the safety bar. What's previously heard as a loud jumble of sound separate from one another, the monster not as scary as your head turns to the hand's source. 

Anton wears the sunset on his face, flow between features like a slow moving river. He speaks the same way too, slow like molasses. 

"Hey, you're good. We're good," he assures, fingers weaving between yours to push your hand harder against the bar. "Kings of Leon deserves to this kind of listening experience."

You crack a laugh despite yourself, his words not all it takes to make the nerves disappear but enough to make friends with them. The exhausted engine the ride starts up with doesn't inspire lots of confidence, sputtering as if on its last legs. But when your swing starts moving, gliding through the chilled air, a lightness takes up your chest cavity. The hard thud of your own heart demands attention, but when the distinct drum solo ending of Manhattan hits your ears, you're unreasonably giddy, sinking into the notes. Hoots and hollers slice through the flowing air, almost child-like as the swings gain traction, hoisting further into the sky. The sun draws closer, almost like you could reach out and grab it. There's a beauty in how cotton candy floss the sky looks, clouds pastel pink dipped in peach around their edges. Their backdrop is almost purple in nature, light blue having since faded. Moisture collects in your squinted eyes, wind cutting through them while you work overtime to admire the view.

It's not really anything you care for in the lulls of your life, but moments like this make the hues sing to your soul, resounded by the gentle guitar strings of Time in Disguise. In your version of events, Use Somebody played like it would in the perfect coming-of-age film. But life isn't like that, a cookie-cutter of perfect events. Sometimes you get your chips stolen by entitled seagulls and sometimes you're so afraid of heights, you're bending the safety bar with your grip. It's not perfect by any means, but it's pretty damn close to it. 

When you're at the top, nothing but clouds and birds around, your head turns beside you. Anton's got one hand raised, fingers spread like he'll catch the wind between them. The sunset does him favours he doesn't need, shadows cast in the sharp angles of his face, a painting of sentimental as his lips part in a silent sing-along. The lyrics amplify out your chest, volume whipping his head round with the flare of life in his eyes. There's a small tremble in your voice, masked by the sky-high winds but even if there's no blanket to hide behind, you're still unashamed. Sharing giggles with each other in lyrics known by heart, each word louder than the last. At the chorus littered with questions, your hand relents, prying off the poor safety bar but tightly-woven into Anton's, kept between your bodies as the other hand extends to catch wind like his did. While you may age years down the line, memory coming and going, you find it hard to say you'll forget this moment — friends' unmistakable cheers adlibs to Caleb Followill's soulful voice, time nothing but a disguise amongst the clouds. 

Eventually, when you reach the ride's pinnacle, it comes to a momentary halt. It's not as thrilling stopped, the denseness of being so many feet in the air putting you on the wrong side of weightless, core tensed. A squeeze to your held hands alerts you over to Anton, his finger extended over into the horizon. 

"See there?" he gestures to the biggest stage of the festival, an unearthly field worth of people watching the performance. "That's where they are. They're playing I Want You — which is their best song, by the way."

"Why do I feel like you're the type to watch music festivals when drunk?" you ask, playing off distant memories at your uncle's house, sipping on grape juice and beer respectively while watching Glastonbury stages.

He cast you a side glance, trying not to smile. "Are you psychic or in my walls?"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." 

Your held hands fall to your shared lap, his broad shoulder free real estate you take upon yourself to indulge, laying your head down. It's only a scarce amount of seconds before his head leans as well, on top of yours before a yell from behind calls to you. 

With a micro shift in your swing, you manage to catch a familiar platinum bob, belonging to none other than Jinsoul. Your head cannot crane further to see who sits beside her. 

"It's Sullyoon," Anton supplies with a wink.

"We snapped a really cute photo! You'll like it!" Jinsoul holler mid-air, your thanks and thumbs up thrown her way. 

"I think looking at my phone would make me sick."

"Don't worry, I've got it." his hand pats his trouser pocket, pulling out his own. Instead of navigating through AirDrop, he opens up his camera app, lens full of the saturating sunset.

"Get it before it goes," you encourage, clicks off going as the camera captures it landscape and portrait, in different frame settings too.

"They'll be all yours once we're back down," he says, holding the device with his non dominant hand. In an absent tap, the camera flips onto you two, the picture of domesticity pulling your head back slightly. "My bad."

"No, take it." you're scooching closer into the frame when there's no need to, cheek squished into the curve of his shoulder. Searching eyes flicker down to yours in a question of reassurance, your head nod all he needs before he shakes his head to fluff his hair.

Lavender makes its way to your nose, dry shampoo doing the heavy lifting for his hair according to Wonbin tidbit shared in the queue. In near direct sunlight, your eyes squint slightly, spying the peace signs posed behind your backs as he snaps the photo, 1 of 1. 

Just as he's stashing his phone away, the ride moves again, swing moving forwards again as the rig lowers. While your fear waits to kiss the ground once back down, a slight longing hangs in the curtains of your emotions, eased by the brush of Anton's thumb to your knuckles, voice louder to sing to Radioactive. 

Back on your own two feet is when your hands finally release, clammy in some areas, but a none issue for Anton who only jokingly bumps into your side on the way tothe rest of your group. In the quick discussion of what to do, quickly deciding to catch the rest of Kings of Leon's set, your phone pings in your bumbag. Unzipped, you unlock it, only to be distracted by an Airdrop request from Jinsol. Looking at her, she, Sullyoon and a nosy Sungchan admire the photos, thumbs up sent your way. Once delivered, the image takes up your entire screen.

It's like you're sitting at the height of the world, feet dangling off the swing as the sunset eclipses your faces. Your face is largely unseen, focused on the ahead sunset, but Anton's side profile is most prominent, eyes drinking in every drop of you. The pastel background emphasizes the affection in his expression, an almost honey-like sweetness dripping from his eyes. It's stunning, very much worthy of the thumbs up.

Another notification blocks the picture, an Airdrop message from Nugu6000. 

You're about to delete it before Anton's soft voice tells you it's him, the shake of your head his only response. There's 17 photos in total, sixteen of them the breath-taking sky at all angles, your favourite amongst many. The last photo, different from the rest, is your picture together. It's just as sweet as Jinsol's photo, maybe even more because now both your faces are visible, the same sentiment displayed in both.

It doesn't take long to be added to your favourites folder, tucked away with the 16 sky photos, phone turned off to the image of you two hanging at the top of the universe. 

For someone who was undecided on going to Kings of Leon's set, you sure knew their lyrics, classics dusted off the shelves of your memory as you bob along with the crowd. No effort's made to venture further like last night, the freedom of the outskirts outweighing the hassle of being swept away. 

Live music is an experience you'll always chase, something deep in you seeking raw vocals and strum of the guitar you feel course through your veins. Even with its' dulled ache through the mileage collected over the weekend, your feet never stop moving, two-stepping into the crowd as Anton shadows you, an enthused nod bringing out laughter in you. 

In curiosity, your eyes comb over your surroundings, starstruck faces many in the crowd, all sharing the look of enjoyment. Of freedom the music gives, telling a story all up to one's interpretation. The same enjoyment tugs at your lips, eyes falling back to your group who again, enjoy nothing more than each other's company, interwoven in ways that seem like forever. Yunjin and Eunseok have their backs to each other, air-guitaring while Shotaro, Choerry, Sungchan and Kazuha have their arms looped over each other's shoulders swaying, singing obnoxiously loud. The rest nod along, unfamiliar with the words but not the sentiment, the same happiness in them too. 

It's a moment you wish you could keep in a glass bottle forever, revisit when life was its clear opposite. 

You don't allow yourself to go there, not even by a millimetre, sinking your teeth into the beauty of the moment. The frontman, Caleb, converses with the crowd, band members egging on crowd reactions as a lone drum beat comes. It brings the crowd alive, a call and response created to jump-start the song everyone knows and responds to.

Use Somebody.

Everyone's hands go sky-high, up as they fall into the rhythm of a slow left to right. The weightlessness is there, infectious with everybody in the largest crowd of the weekend. Anton's behind you, a comforting presence as his hand shadow yours, a brief squeeze of your hands making you laugh with the easiness that comes with him, a warm light shining from within. 

In your ear, you hear him sing, tender like he wants to charm butterflies. You flock to him regardless, turning back around to get a good look at him. He's tanned beautifully over the past sunny days, beloved by the sun bringing out the deep olive of his complexion. His hair's wind swept, not fussed over since the Swing Tower and he…just looks so content. With everything, with the band performing in front of him, his friends around and your hands in his. Something divine swipes over your figures, dissipating the crowd to only your two souls. Eyes dazzling, lyrics flowing and just the right type of romance.

The kind you didn't think as conceivable in the wake of non-committal jokes. The kind wicked uni boys convinced you you'd do without, only amounting to the promise of a good time.

Again, Anton's eyes crease, a crinkle to his nose. He looks at you like you're something special and even without him, you know it to be true. It's just nice to have him see it too.

Kissing him never gets old, but there's a special kind of kiss done lost in the crowd, Sex on Fire beginning in the background. You smile at the irony, looping your arms around his nape while you rock yourself onto your tip toes, wanting it all. There's leftover sugar grains on his lips, the taste of cinnamon and vanilla ice cream on his tongue. His hands anchor down at your hips, the only thing tethering you down to earth as the rest of you floats. Nothing more consumes your mind more than your lips on him, everything an afterthought as his tongue glides over your bottom lip.

Desperate fingers tangle into his locks of hair, pulling when his teeth catch between your lip, the slightest tug drawing a whine out of you. And he has the audacity to smile afterwards, against your lips like your body isn't hot coal level warm. 

When your lungs scream for air, constricted beyond comfort is only when you bear to pry from Anton, eyes blinking apart to focus again. He's so clear to you, wrapped in hues of orange and red, brimming with the same fondness you feel tickle in your chest. 

No part of you wants to stop, neither does Anton who goes back in for more. You swear your hear some wolf whistles, but this time all you can do is laugh, pecking him back before your seeking hands grab ahold of his, set in your way as you lead him through the jostling crowd.

On your way out, your eyes catch on Jinsol, shoulders blanketed in Wonbin's embrace as they nod along to the song's last notes. Like clockwork, she catches onto yours, tawny brown eyes wide all before her lips curve into a knowing smirk, the words 'have fun' mouthed before you pass.

It's Friday all over again, same hand clasped and fingers interlocked, you leading him where more awaits. Except there's no jittery feeling nipping at your turning stomach, no tremble of your hand. Just the satisfaction of having Anton all to yourself, all while you can. 

Not a moment is wasted, the quick unzip and zip of the tent you've called home for the weekend the only thing you grab ahold of before you're swept off your feet. He brings you impossibly close, demanding hands swallowing the underside of your bare thighs as you jump into his arms, rocking yourself on his growing erection with moans that bleed over.

It's hungry, the way you both move for a surface to fuck on, your back eventually meeting the polyester of your trusty sleeping bag. His hand comes from underneath your head, wanting to cushion your fall but as he comes back up for air, you do too, following him in flimsy kisses as clothes get tossed aside, shaky pants all you hear beyond the quiet festival murmur.

"Anton," you rasp, desperately needy as his mouth trails the sweet skin of your neck, marking his presence. "Don't tease. Not now."

He licks a long stripe against the skin, tasting salt and the unique blend of you that makes him moan. "I won't,"

A chaste kiss presses against you, the brush of his lips the aftermath. "Even my patience has limits."

The gruff of his words pool heat in your swirling belly, a pathetic mess between your legs he firms open with skimming kisses, unable to deny himself a sliver of you. Once his hands hit the waistband of your underwear, pretty accent bow a feast for his eyes, they flicker up to yours. He's all pupils, a slim ring of brown around darkness illuminated by Yunjin's pearl light. The way he's looking at you — like he can't wait to eat you — you're surprised he doesn't rip the material in half, having the decency to peel the soaked material off, watching the string of slick connected to the gusset stretch. A pained sound claws from his chest, canines digging deep into his bottom lip as he watches the vulgar show, all until the material is discarded.

"Poor girl. So wet for me," he says, inching closer to you. Anticipation makes your thoughts race, your only focus pinpointed on the man between your legs. "I'll take care of you now. Just be good for me."

In the echo of his words, he lines himself with your weeping cunt, face contorting into the sweet mix of pleasure and devastation as he slides in. As vaguely gauged in moments of intimacy, he's big, fat tip stretching your hole in a preview for what his hard length brings. Immediately, your legs twitch, idle hands not knowing what to do except claw into the sleeping bag's swishing material, long overdue moans filling the thin walls. 

"You're so—ngh," you grunt, eyebrows screwed together, mouth panting. "Fuck."

"You can take it, I know you can," he goads, a teasing curve to his plump lips, back of his finger cascading up your flushed cheek. The hairs on your sweat-slicked neck stand, deep inhale filling your lungs. "Look at how needy you are, squirming for more."

His dense stare bores into your flesh, not addressed as your eyes focus on the view between your legs. Quietly watching, his veined pelvis draws closer, neatly trimmed pubes an airbrush to sensitive skin as his hard cock slides into you, cruel and achingly slow. It's more of a shuddered breath than calm exhale you do as he stretches your walls, quick to come down on him as his hand bruises your hip. Only when he's buried to the hilt can you breath again, a struggling moan climbing out your lips as you peer up with creased brows, the ghost of Anton's smirk all that's left as his mouth parts with pleasure. 

"Should've done this ages ago," he remarks, a grunt heaved out his chest. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so good" 

An experimental roll of his hips has you gripping at the material of your sleeping bag, his pine oak scent embracing you as he gives you more. A lazy fog begins on the edges of your vision, the rush of blood pounding in your ears competing with the slap of skin, his pelvis and heavy balls smacking against the plush of your ass. It's nasty, the indecent squelch echoing where you two meet, satisfaction curving Anton's red-kissed lips. 

"Hear that? Oh, she's crying for me," his sentence ends with a haunting chuckle, cunt clamping down to the filth of it. While he builds a steady rhythm, making sure to touch every inch of your sensitive walls, your eyes roll back, arms shaking to the burst of pleasure quickly overwhelming you. "Just like that, needy girl. Let go, let me make you feel good."

Your toes curl with a teeth-bared grunt, the drag of each vein and ridge pooling a thick, hot ball of insatiable lust in your belly, body hunching into itself. Anton opens the valve to your endless moans, desperate sounds unrecognisable to your burning ears as he goes hard enough to make your breasts jump each thrust. 

"That's so good," you wither, willing the tears of overwhelm not to overflow. "You're so fucking good, oh my god."

"No one does it better, right? No one fucks you like I do?" 

"Yesyesyes!" the confirmation resounds through the tent, for his ears and yours. You sniffle, close to breaking. "Only you, Anton. Only you." 

He grunts, expression taut in restrain."You're so sweet for me, angel," air pushes out his chest rhythmically, echoing the pace of his fast thrusts. 

"Harder, harder!" you squeal, white-knuckling the material underneath you. "Give it to me, please!"

"Fuck," he curses out, a momentary lapse in movement used to adjust himself, both hands iron-tight on your humping hips. "You begging gets me so hard. Makes me wanna do filthy things to you."

"Do it!" your hips buck on him, starved for more. "Want it all, Ton." 

Determination lining the hard edges of his face, thrusts come down on your body with a punishing force, the breath knocked out of you. Your eyes cross, girthy cock splitting you open in the best way, skin friction licking heat up your bowed spine. 

The whole room spins, festival the furthest thing from mind. The world boils to this, to Anton and the only kind of pleasure he gives you, the explosive burst of ecstasy ticking in you like a time-bomb. 

"I'll—ah! I'll come if you d-don't slow down," you warn, weak outstretched hand. The high you're on hurtles you towards ground unknown, the inkling feeling drawing slight panic in your eyes that can only slow blink. "I'm gonna p—!" 

"Sounds like you don't know your body like I do," he has the audacity to smirk, gold chain beating between his collarbones, chiselled torso something of your wettest dreams. One hand relents off your hip, skin perfectly bruised as it slides between you two, bunched fingers rubbing your clit. "You're gonna make a mess for me, baby. Go on, it'll feel good."

A snake to a charmer, your body moves to his notes, the world imploding all around you. You crash into your orgasm hard, air strangled out your burning lungs as your gasp echoes in the back of your mind, head thrown back with a hard thud. Body no longer yours, it moves on its own accord, thrashing around as the pleasure ripples through every micro cell, cunt shooting out a flood of liquid drenching Anton's lower half and your poor sleeping bag (again). You're too out of it to conceive the matter, much less sheepishly apologize, nonsensical babbles running out your mouth.

"Sit tight, pretty girl. I'm right there with you," his words make their way to you, heavy and tormented. "God, gonna fill you up just right. Have you dripping with my come. You want it, don't you? Don't you, sweet girl?"

He's still working circles over your aching clit, overstimulation creeping in ever so slightly, unimaginable bliss close behind. Your body can only shiver, hard and continuously, hips still bucking to meet his thrusts as he ruts one last time before he stills. His tip jabs hard against your cervix, unleashing a deep-seated scream that forces you into your own orgasm, cheeks gathering moisture as you come with a cry. 

It's a long while before the world makes sense again, pulled out of your closest to heaven experience, arms blanketing your eyes. Laboured, your chest heaves, hard pressed for air that makes its way to your brain again, pumping blood slowing in the background. Your core shakes in overuse, not bothering with sitting up and only looking, one eye cracked open with your arms pushing up slightly. In your lethargic film-coated gaze, Anton's top half brackets over yours, pants resounding with a sweat-layered fringe sticking to his forehead, tongue swiping over his lips. 

Mid swipe, his eyes flicker over to yours, kindness blooming across his face. He smiles like he's been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. 

Seems like his words have caught up to him.

"That was," he murmurs, thumb and index finger ironing out his scrunched eyebrows. "A lot. I'm sorry if that was uncomfortable for you." 

"The opposite, actually," you end up saying, surprising yourself and him, owlish blinks shared between the two of you. "I-I liked it — if you couldn't tell."

His eyes drop down to your sleeping bag, clear liquid sat on the waterproof surface. "I had a feeling."

The embarrassment diasrms you, hands running over your hot face while you scramble for words to say. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know I could do that, I'll take care of it."

He laughs like you've told a joke, nose scrunched with a gasp-like laughter. "No hard feelings, I'm glad I could make you feel something good — something new."

Your tongue clicks, enough energy restored to have you sit upwards, scepticism narrowing your eyes. "Should've never believed the girls when they said you're the shy type."

His hand cups around the half of his mouth, voice dropped to a loud whisper. "It's always the shy ones."

You chuckle with him, swatting away his hand, only him to grasp onto you, fingers interlocking in a slow, gentle move. The uptake in your heart rate is comical, breath shallow as Anton's larger hand gives yours a squeeze of comfort, smile like honey. 

"I'm glad I came here," he lets you know, eyes on yours as they've always been. "I'm glad I met you." 

A homeliness engulfs your heart, body warm and buzzing. "I'm glad I met you too." 

Monday is an odd day. The grogginess of non-stop partying finally catching up with your battered body, sandy eyes burning with each lazy blink. Much isn't said as you dissemble your weekend home, packing away your lumpy pillow you really have to replace next year, saying goodbye to Yunjin's pearl light too.

Speaking of Anton, in yet another stroke of fate ─ out of all the cars crawling in the long exiting lines of the festival, their black Land Rover inches right beside yours, surfboards and camping miscellaneous hanging out the back. Along with Sohee and Eunseok, waving to your car. 

In the car seat opposite yours, Anton pulls out his wired earphones, looking frontwards where Shotaro speaks from the driver's sear. A nod in your direction is all it takes for the red string to connect again, your smiles instant and everlasting.

A few mouthed words are traded, left to personal interpretation before he hoists his phone up. Projected on his lockscreen is nothing but sheer coincidence, the song playing sending your heart into a series of flutters. A full circle moment to the summer you'd been longing for. 

Wish You Were Mine. 

And lucky for him, he doesn't have to wish. You are his as much as summer is yours, sea breeze blowing through rolled-down windows as Sullyoon's car chases the sun, fast-tracked to your next adventure.

thank you for reading! („• ֊ •„)੭

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[dollhoonki]

so we have updates to the festival!anton buffet 😵‍💫

everyone say thank you lollapalooza 🙏🏾

[jjkwithyou]

Insanely handsome ♥

[flowers4jude]

Gavi winking, singing along to the lyrics, staring at Joãos phone to make sure the ex stays the ex and nudging him to look at the camera and João doing a silly peace sign with a wink!!!!!!!???!??!????

THEIR BOND IS SO DEAR TO ME!!!! KILL ME PLS

[gavily]

gavi and joao felix really went from shoving and fighting each other on the pitch to attending a jason derulo concert together

[hubba1892]

Florian Wirtz scoring a wonder goal feat. Xabi Alonso and Christian Streich

[lkluvsu]

idk i’m thinking future captain material 🤷‍♀️

[ikram1909]

https://x.com/b4ldestar/status/1764868244127748258?s=46&t=Y0Md76L8FR9umM1nmCkHnQ

i miss them :(

We used to be so happy 🫤🫤🫤🫤🫤

[alexi-01]

so fucking cute 🥺

[masn-mount]

oh, I cry

[pedripics]

😄👍

[doinggreat]

[ikram1909]

Gavi and Felix are having fun at least 😭😭

[ikram1909]

One thing about Gavi, he's always a mood 😭😭

[idkanymoretbf-deactivated202503]

I LOVE GAVI!! ALWAYS STANDING UP FOR HIS TEAMMATES😭😭😭💖💖💖

[ikram1909]

My Roman empire ☹️

[peligrosapop]

Gavi fidgeting when he is nervous 🤏🏽

[wedarkacademia]

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

― Jamie Anderson